Everlast
by Starry Eyed Wonder
Summary: (AU, VH!)Stuck in an arranged marriage, she does the only thing that comes to her mind to escape--runs. Runs right into the powerful arms of HIM, a man out of her romantic fantasies and together they fall.XDR&R!
1. I Leap

**AN: If you are about to be in an unwanted marriage, I highly suggest you cancel it before you decide to run away on the very day. The probability of such things as what will occur in this piece is highly slim, so don't count on it. :P So, getting that straight...continue on with the reading...**

**_Dedicated to idle, hopelessly romantic dreams, to the strength of friendship and to the surmounting power of love._**

**I. Leap **

"_No trumpets sound when the important decisions of our life are made. Destiny is made known silently."_

--Agnes De Mille

Long, cascading white fabric, sparkly with silver stitches lovingly embroidered glittered like unshed tears similar to those in the eyes of the wearer in the highly illuminated room. Lashes unveiled to reveal spring, verdant eyes. There in the full mirror she saw an image of a quintessential wife, _wife-to-be_, her mind corrected.

But oh how her heart refused to accept the destiny laid before her in the cushioned platter...the ring that would make her someone else's, more specifically.

But, a secret smile slowly formed on her lips; she was going to resist this, fight this arranged marriage that her father had so brilliantly crafted to his advantage, and to what he hoped would be his daughter's as well.

Except, it wasn't.

In precisely one hour, she would no longer be Hitomi Iris Kanzaki, but one bearing a strange, alien name. The soft night was welcoming, tempting even to the young bride. How she wanted to melt into its richness, lose herself in its enveloping arms, become one of the faceless hiding in its curtain. Ever since Hitomi Kanzaki, age twenty-five could remember, she had wanted a romance. A _real_ romance, with all the ribbons and tassels of happiness, euphoria, and a happily-ever-after. Her parents had thought that they had crafted the very thing for her with the entrance of Owen, blond, beaming, and _boring_. They were captivated by the man's beauty, straw colored hair over a pale, thin aristocratic face, eyes the color of cobalt. But the eyes were empty, and what he was, he showed to everyone on the surface. No, there was nothing _deep_ about this man, something that would make a woman want to dig, want to reach out for to scratch away the hard surfaces with her tenderness; he laid out the banquet of his mind with no surprises.

And women thrilled in pleasant surprises. It made them feel as if they were indeed living in a movie, in pages off of a novel.

Which was the supreme antonym of her life.

She sighed. This was it. There was a stillness in the air, as if it was waiting for a decision. _You can do it, you can do it, you c-can't!_ Her heart cried out at her, cursing her for her stupidity, lack of self-respect and her weakness. She should've bolted, refused the idea of marriage to him, and shaken it off! Heck, she should've convinced him she was paranoid, eccentric and insanity was a rather dominant trait that ran in her blood. Anything to shoo away the persistent moth.

She thought with a depreciating smile; she was, however, no flame. Greater beauties had stood to look at mirrors before her. No, Hitomi Kanzaki's features were, to put it tactfully, quaintly plain. Her hair hadn't decided to be a specific color, being somewhere in between a dark blond or light brown, her height being a _wonderful_ middle of five feet five. Perfectly ordinarily, she snorted, as if something ordinary could be _perfect_.

She quieted her tumultuous thoughts. Inhaled, then exhaled. The answer seemed clear to her, bright as the glimmering letters on Broadway boards.

_A real romance..._ Her bit her lips, and slowly an idea formed in her rather creative mind, something that was rather unrelenting when she was in desperate times. Oh yes, 'desperate' described Hitomi Kanzaki to a woeful accuracy.

The only thing to do now was to leap.

OOOO

The world was waiting for something. Something dramatic, some elusive change, he could tell.

Stuffing his cold hands into the depths of his pant pockets, he inhaled the mix of liquor and cheap illegal drugs that lingered in the air. A deep melancholic feeling wove into his heart reflected like the mourning black petals of a rose.

His appearance was a contradiction to the shabby streets, a tailored dinner jacket pulled over an exorbitantly priced, crisp white shirt, and legs encased in dark formal pants. He was the embodiment of what would make many a mother squawk after their interested daughters—only after they'd delighted themselves in his company. No, at least these streets didn't lie. The 'polished' society lied, with its façade coated with trickery and hypocrisy.

And Van Fanel had grown up among this harsh truth, in the midst of these types of streets where the blistering truth was accepted and openly flashed for all to see. He'd seen a mother's shuddering cry as she held her newborn to her bosom, doomed to a fate not a cent better than hers, watched the boy grow into someone beautiful, too wonderful for the fragile world that was constantly trying to quench his bubbling spirit. His eyes darkened, he had also watched him die slowly, crying, tears slipping like the merciless rain that had lashed its fury the night, when the world was bleak and helpless.

The wind whipped his dark hair and the arrestingly tall man slowly and surely dissolved into the darkness of the world and his thoughts.

The woman, had been his mother, the boy had been his brother whose grave he'd dug with his own fingers.

OOOO

There was stupid and then there was _stupid_. Hitomi Kanzaki needed no stroke of genius to conclude that she was indeed the latter. Stupid was what defined her idea of calling Yukari, her best friend since she wore diapers, to confide about her realization that there was absolutely no way to escape from this marriage than—running away. Naturally. Of-course, her father had reasoned that 'Kari and Hitomi would be reaching the great hall together thus needing only one car.

A car that Yukari was driving and was somewhere lost among the streets of the immense city.

She groaned, 'Kari had told her to meet her in the old Anglican Church that was a four blocks from the hotel where she was staying.

It was as if Fate was against her. Like the toppling of dominoes, one-by-one every thing had gone wrong. At first, she realized she had absolutely no spare clothes in the hotel room; all of her suitcases and her possessions had already been shifted to the gorgeous house which she was going to live in, _but of-course not anymore_, she hastily added to mollify her nerves.

_Jesus_, running away from your wedding was a _big_ thing.

After trying to convince herself that the dress wasn't _that_ bad to walk into, she had concluded with a smile, it almost made her feel like Cinderella, albeit a Cinderella in dire straits. Then the car problem, which was to her relief, solved rapidly when she hired a taxi.

Ohh, if _only_ Yukari had warned about the Anglican Church. A decent person would only be caught dead in such a place. The driver had adamantly refused to go into the lane much to her ire, who personally probably wondered why a bride would want to go there, though he made no comment. After placing the bills into his palms, she struggled to control the enormous gown that seemed to float all around her like a ghost.

The Anglican Church _had_ to be at the end of the lane, she thought cynically knowing that was probably right.

That was the point of her decline, a decline that could be taken perhaps literally. It had started well enough for someone wearing white stiletto heels and having to walk a quarter mile and trying to manage a wedding gown. Oh, but the men didn't make it better. The first thing she had sighted in the dark street was the light of a cigarette, and the curling smoke. Her stomach instantly tightened and she gulped. The air reeked of all sorts of questionable things that her parents had always advised her against: cigarettes, drugs, and alcohol.

Taking brave steps, she continued her trek through the neighborhood, fervently praying to God and finding herself doing what she hadn't done since she was six—bribing. Harsh, grating laughter sounded like a pistol and her fingers clamped the material of her gown tightly.

The footsteps were behind her, coming closer... "Eh, 'Ron, you ever fucked a bride?"

'Ron chuckled hideously, "No, don't like no brides, too much trouble for a man."

The man agreed, but countered, "But wouldja mind havin' one that's not yours?"

At this, the man called 'Ron heartily laughed, "They are a delicacy 'round here." Taking a look at the phantom in white ahead of them, he added, "And such a morsel too."

_Ohh, Yukari, if I survive unscathed, I will lead you to your deathbed. _Her throat was clogged and she quickened her steps. It was apparent by the lazy voices of the men that they were clearly drunk and that was helpful. But not helpful enough for a bride wearing stilettos.

They were walking quickly, still not addressing her directly and her heart was just about to ready shoot out of her rib cage. Her lips trembling, she did the only thing that came to her mind.

Rapidly removing her heels, Hitomi Kanzaki, not the most athletic individual, whose only reason to form a truce with running was to keep in considerable shape, ran like she had never run, barefoot.

The streets were cool, the surface lightly abrasive to the tender pad of feet and painfully hard as her feet hit the ground, but she didn't care. She could hear the string of curses behind her as the men hurried, not being too firm on their legs now. The rush of air in her lungs, the dew firmly pressing onto her skin, and an exhilarated joy like the flower that suddenly flung open its petals blossomed in her heart.

She felt _free_, like the wild, untamed songbird finally released from its confining cage.

But God had His quirks and He decided that perhaps such an emotion was not fitting in her position.

She tripped, falling to the _hard_ ground. The hem of the gown tore with a sickening sound. She, however, disproved the theory of her weakness as she lifted herself up from the position and continued, albeit now in her heart there was anxiety and apprehension.

_Oh God, oh God...please get me out of this! _

The shell of his ear twitched, and he concentrated on the sound that rose in volume by each second. Footsteps, no, he corrected himself, _several _footsteps. What was happenin—

His train of thought had been sliced like a wire removed from a circuit because before him, not at such a great distance was an angel, a spirit, a ghost running like the way a woman ran to a beloved when seeing him after years. He smirked; somehow he had a feeling that it wasn't just that.

His eyes widened. _Bloody hell_. The woman was dressed full fledged like a _bride_.

She was charging towards him and when his eyes traveled to the figures looming behind her, a swift curse elicited from his lips that would put a sailor to shame. It was rapid, a shock to him, what he realized should not have been since he was in the shade, not liking the glare of the light and it was his fault.

Her eyes widened, dazed, as she deciphered the figure of a man before her inches away.

Her palms first touched the expanse of his chest, then her body collided into him, chest to chest, legs intermingling, and together, they fell.

His reflexes were rapid, and before they touched the ground, he made sure she would land atop him, while he took bulk of the inevitable pain. A thud sounded and for moments, Hitomi Kanzaki swore, everything was inordinately motionless. Slowly, his arm crossed her back and held her tight while his eyes were sealed trying to wait till the pain subsided.

"Let go of me, please, oh God, please," she pleaded. Oh great, she'd made herself most accessible to another pervert trying to run away from two, and this one was apparently not drunk in the least.

His face was still shielded by the dark and she shook because of a startle when he spoke, his voice possessing an odd husky, scratchy note, "_Don't move_." Softness. Fire. Her hair smelled like roses in June, the cheek pressed onto the side of his face like smooth, warm marble. An uninvited, harsh groan sounded from his lips, one that the bride mistook for pain. His hands as if having a mind of their own, gradually traveled upwards to the bare flesh of her neck, making circular patterns causing the woman to gasp.

"_Please_," she whimpered. If he hadn't known before that she wanted nothing to do with him, he would've almost taken it as an invitation to continue. Her voice, he realized stunningly, was melodic, supple like honey and milk, something a man could get intoxicated on. It was a temptresses' voice, a temptress playing innocent.

"Don't go anywhere," he spoke again, and once more it startled her. _God, Hitomi Kanzaki, would you stop shaking like some damned weakling._ It was with great unwillingness that he slowly unlatched the steel bars of his arm from her waist, and gave her a gentle push upwards. Momentarily, she sat on his chest, a very misleading position, and as if recognizing its potential connotations, she blushed quickly standing up with a stumble.

He lifted himself effortlessly, and she watched the man borne from the darkness, at least his movements, as he straightened his jacket, raked a hand through his hair which was helplessly disheveled. He nodded curtly to her and she noticed that his voice was also cultured, "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes," she mumbled.

"Good." The men were a yard away, now coming with leisure steps, almost gloatingly. "Do any of these two bastards happen to be holding your affection?"

A mad desire to smile raged on her lips, the mannerisms of the man, the easy, composed drawl so ironic to the urgent situation that it had a tangy flavor of humor. "No."

"Good, very good," the voice was low and shadowy.

"Met up with yo' wife?" the mustached man asked. "What a hot chick—"

It was at that moment when Van Fanel stepped away from the shadows and stood under the glaring light. The men stopped dead in their tracks, one open-mouthed gaping while an odd sort of transformation writhed over their faces.

With an unhurried deliberately deadly voice, he spoke. "Fuck. Off." Speechlessly, Hitomi Kanzaki watched as the two men wavered for a moment, then ran like the way a man would run for his life.

There was a moment of silence, this vine-like creepy silence in which Hitomi Kanzaki felt she had stumbled into some movie set, or worse, into someone else's dream. This was not happening, no man could make such vandals react like this, any moment she waited for the sound of her alarm, the knock on the door, her mother's voice—

"What in hell possessed you to come here? If the little fool of your husband called you at this time, then he should be hanged," the voice was harsh, unforgiving, totally male

...and a most pleasant waking so much so that she would have embraced him. He however annoyingly thought, had meant 'little' in every sense.

She was struck dumb, gaping, and incoherent when her eyes hit his lambent form.

Jesus, he was _beautiful_.

Sinewy, lean muscles made up his tanned body. His face had a kind of rough beauty, like that of nature's. No, this was a _man_ in every sense. His features did not possess any attributes of a female, carved lips that of a cynic, face stamped with pride, and eyes, eyes of a wild, hungry animal's, soul-searching, delving. His hair was softly black like that of the night in which he seemingly appeared from, his face having a light glow of honey-golden. Hitomi Kanzaki knew as surely as she knew she was doomed, that this man was dangerous, fatal, even, and unfortunately _exactly_ the type that appealed to her senses.

A dark sardonic brow indicated that he had been waiting. "Oh uh, I," she bit her lip, clenched her hands into fists, "my husband, _husband-to-be_, really, wasn't who I wanted, not that he wasn't _nice._" She knew she was blabbing, not making a stitch of sense. "And Yukari was supposed to help and pick me up and save me, and the bloody girl took the car so I—"

To her horror, which quickly melted into fascination, his lips twitched, he _smiled_, and then as if a knot of tension had been released, laughter, deep and satisfying erupted from his lips.

And the change was amazing. He was breathtaking, and she realized, tall, _very_ tall as she craned her neck up to look into his eyes. "Do not," he shook his ahead in amazement, "tell me that you, you are _running_ _away_ from your very own wedding?"

Sheepishly, she nodded. "I am."

He inhaled a deep, shuddering breath and grew serious, "And out of all bloody streets in this city, you happened to find _this_ one?! Did you even comprehend _what_ could have happened to you while your husband was waiting for you? Your parents are probably worried--"

"Husband-to-be," she snapped.

"Huh?" he lost his thought for a second and then looked at her as if she was not only stupid, but apparently _insane_.

"He's _not_ my husband," she hissed, her face flushing with anger, moving closer to.

"Alright. Answer this then: why are you here, specifically?" He smirked, "A sentence under ten words would be excellent right about now."

Frowning deeply at the man, she informed him as haughtily as she could, "Yukari was to meet me at the Anglican Church." She gave a jaunty smile, "Nine words."

"Fine," his lips were in a grim line, though his eyes could not hide his amusement. "I'll deliver you to her." She opened her mouth to argue and hold on to the last vestiges of dignity, but he interrupted her, "And you will firmly close that sweet mouth of yours and I won't hear a word of complaint." For some reason, at that moment, Van Fanel became extremely curious about the mysterious, cloaked runaway bride's mouth, the texture, silkiness, the taste, the shape, the color—His voice was gruff, "I am not about to let you land in their arms again."

She wanted to point out that the only man's arms she'd landed were his, but a gasp of surprise escaped her lips when his strong hand grasped her wrist and pulled her into the gloomy street.

He'd already made the initiative, out of his own will. At the touch of his hand onto her wrist, Van Fanel got the distinct feeling that he'd stepped into something larger, something important.

There was no escape now. It was inevitable, the hands of God working the thread of Fate into an intricate loom, producing their very own life-story.

OOOO

The minutes ticked as she sat in the pew, the church lit by dim candles. It was battered from inside, needing obvious repair, but it still possessed that grace and awe that came with age.

"It's been twenty minutes," he said quietly. "Are you sure she's coming?"

She raised her head from her arms and turned around to meet him, the soft glow of candles behind her. "Yes."

The air went out of his lungs. Roses, summer nights, warmth. This was the first time he truly _saw_ her. She'd always been in the shadows, letting him see hints of her face, but they were vague images that flirted with the darkness.

A man could not only get drunk on her voice, he thought, he could get drunk by the air around her as he watched her. Her skin was shimmering pale, her heavy, thick hair lit like the dark sun, and her body was magnificent. The curling lashes were like feathery fans that cast shadows on her soft cheek. Melting, effortlessly graceful curves filled the dress wonderfully that made him want to groan again at the memory of her atop him. God, he had to control himself. He hastily shoved his hand into his pocket to stop them from trembling. _Trembling?_ He thought with disgust; he was getting soft (though with proven with evidence, _not_ in body, the nether region to be specific being solid proof). He felt distinctly heathenish as his thoughts continued somehow seeming blasphemous in the church. She was made for a man, for a man's hands, lips, mouth, eyes, teeth—everything.

His curiosity of her mouth did not end with its sighting. They were the color of coral, tempting, as she licked it to keep from drying and cracking—an unconscious act of seduction.

Her eyes, impossibly verdant, reminded him of summer meadows of lazy pleasure days, of memories he had never created, never lived in.

Not recognizing his own voice, coming from such an obscure place, he spoke. "Yukari won't come."

Her eyes were distressed, her mouth slightly agape, her rigid pose speaking for herself. It was not that she didn't believe him, she didn't _want_ to.

"You can come with me and I'll drop you off wherever. I'll help you." _Goddamn, Fanel, would you stop this monstrosity! _His eyes flickered for a second, "It's going to be awfully cold tonight, and," he looked at her meaningfully, "discard your ideas about spending the night here because I can guarantee it you'll be spending it with unwanted company." He had no idea why he burned at the thought of some man touching her, laying a finger on her. This woman was full of contradictions, one moment making him laugh, the other making him mad with a thoroughly odd possessive anger, then desire to pull her into his arms, lay her atop him...

In short, he couldn't leave her even if he wanted to. Which, contrary to his body's reactions, he _really_ did.

"C'mon," he said gruffly and when she didn't follow, he raised a brow waiting for an explanation.

"I am thinking."

"_Thinking?_"

"Of where to go," she added with a small frown of concentration.

"Anywhere in particular?" he asked, somehow his voice softening, not bothering to wonder why.

She smiled up at him, a slow, beautiful smile that stretched across her face, "Anywhere sounds good right about now."

A crooked grin curved on his lips, "That I can provide for." He prolonged his hand, and with an uncertain smile, their eyes colliding, she took his hand firmly in his.

"Van Fanel, pleased to meet you."

"Hitomi Kanzaki, _relieved _to meet you."

They simultaneously smiled.

Trust. One step away from...what?

OOOO

Brilliant. Blindingly brilliant was the light that shone at the glitzy _Madison Hotel_, a coveted corner in the city where only the most affluent could attend, and whose membership was exclusive and sought after by all.

"Van," she bit her lip apprehensively, looking at him inquiringly, "Are you _sure_ this is the right place to be in?"

His face was emotionless with a composure that was on the border of being dangerous. It was as if they had stepped into a palace, not a hotel, the décor rich with murals, historical pieces of comfortable furniture, which somehow was still elegant. Large, glittering chandeliers were spread across the ceiling and the milieu was most definitely _classy_.

With just a mere gaze, one of the employees came scuttling to him as if him walking with a bride with a dress torn in several places and spotted with dirt whose hair looked like it had been attacked, was perfectly _normal_. She thought wonderingly, perhaps this was what they were paid for. To never be surprised.

With a crisp, commanding voice, he ordered, "Make sure you have dinner ordered upstairs for two, and," glancing at her and leaning towards the man for more privacy and making sure he was out of ear-shot of the uncertain bride, "some clean night clothes."

"Very well, Mr. Fanel. It will be delivered shortly."

"Thank-you, Evan." He visibly relaxed.

"Where are we going?" she asked suspiciously.

His answer was only a grin as she took in the beautiful setting and he ushered her into the elevator.

OOOO

She gaped. His suite being extremely lavish was an understatement. Deep, dark golden brocade curtains glimmered, a large bed raised on dais while stylish chaises, easy chairs and sofas lounged around the room.

"I take it you like it," he smiled ironically.

"Yes," the word came out with a rush of breath, "It's absolutely glamorous."

He didn't reply, just stepped in and beckoned her inside with his eyes.

"First things first, Hitomi, you need to call your parents or family members."

She nodded, a tangled knot in her stomach, making her wish to wretch out the contents of her lunch. Sitting carefully on a sofa, with dainty feet tucked under, she dialed the number of her brother, hoping against hope that he would pick up, and not her parents.

"Hello?" an irrigated, harassed man's voice rang in clear tones.

"Mamoru, it's me! I'm—"

"Hitomi Kanzaki, I am going to _throttle_ if you don't get your butt down here in the next," he probably looked at his watch for he paused, "ten seconds. Damn it, tell me you're in the building and you're late because your hairdo screwed up!"

She paused, he did too. There was a gaping silence. From the corner, where Van leaned casually, he watched the emotions painting her expressions.

"I am not going to show up," she spoke softly and slowly.

He groaned, knowing full well Hitomi was not in some dire medical condition that would hinder her from attending her own damn wedding, but she was blantantly refusing. "Hitomi," he tried the calm approach, "you're my little sister and I've always cared for you. I know you well. You're being spontaneous, impulsive and this isn't the time. I'm sure perhaps Father will forgive you for attending the wedding late, but you _have_—"

"I said, I am not going to attend! Damn you, Mamoru, I don't want to marry Owen!" Her chest rose, and the sting in her eyes was blinding her. She wasn't crying because of dwelling in her own woes, but for her father's reputation; he was going to be forever scarred and in the lawyer community, always to be laughed at. Brokenly, she added, "you knew I was never happy."

There was silence on the other line, then the voice came out gruff, "'Tomi, for God's sake, do not come here until day after tomorrow, when things are smoothed over. Dad just won't be able to—"

"I know," she interjected helplessly.

"Is this what you want?" Mamoru finally asked softly. "You sure you won't ever regret this?"

Hitomi Kanzaki had never been surer about anything in her life, "Yes."

In a clipped tone, in which he was most likely pursing his lips, he added, "I'll take care of this mess."

"I love you, Mamoru. Thank-you for being there, brother." She swallowed the lump of emotion. Mamoru was going to have a hell of a time cooling her father. With that, there was a click and she put away the phone.

The honest gaze asked her the questions, not needing words. She wove her fingers into her hair and sighed, "My brother feels I should stay away from Dad for a day or two," her chest swelling with pride and love for her brother, "he'll take care of the mess as much as he can."

He came to sit beside her on the sofa, and she relaxed. So quickly he became someone she was used to, she smiled slightly. "Tell me what happened," he inquired softly.

And then the whole tale was spilled, Hitomi not realizing that when Van had offered his arm for her to rest her head upon, she reached for his whole body and embraced him, her arms wrapping around his neck. It was awkward, and Van Fanel found himself not sure what to do, knowing he couldn't push her away (Gods, not even if he wanted to!). So, he carefully, as she continued with the tale, he stroked her soft, silk-like hair, gently caressing her scalp, calming her back with the stroke of his long fingers making patterns.

Her flesh tingled wherever he touched, the kneading of her scalp seductive and when his fingers accidentally brushed the skin of her shoulder, she froze.

Realizing, she was practically sprawled over him wantonly, that her regret and thoughts had completely made her oblivious to her actions. As if sensing her discomfort, he disentangled his hands from her hair, moved it away from the small of her back.

She wrenched away, flustered, "I don't know what I am doing— You probably go the wrong idea." She sprung up from the chaise, "Thank you for helping me, Mr. Fanel, but I can check into another hotel." Right as she was able to leave, he caught her wrist and pinned her to the wall, so perilously close that she could feel his hot breath on her cheek, like an airy kiss.

"You are not going anywhere, you hear me, Kanzaki? You are absolutely not leaving," he was gruff in his tone. "I am not going to hurt you and you can continue on with your life once this matter is smoothed. You wanted my intervention," he bit out harshly; "well you got it. You're stuck with me."

He released her when he realized she was holding her breath because of the intense nature of his proximity.

Turning around as to not face her, he calmly spoke, "Take the bed, you'll sleep here. If you're hungry there'll be dinner ready and some night clothes."

"Where will you sleep?" she demanded stubbornly.

"In the adjoining sitting room," he turned around and looked at her earnestly. "Do not _ever_ trust another man who offers to take you to a hotel room."

Her green eyes widened, her cheeks pinkening.

He continued, unfazed, "Do not enter my sitting room or venture out of here, got it?" _Or I might be someone to fear..._

She could only numbly nod.

"Good night," he said in a cool, detached voice.

Pulling the curtains over the glass door to hide the sitting room from view, Van Fanel's shoulders shook and he decided a _very_ cold shower was in order.

**A/N: This was unexpected, like a pleasant kick in the stomach. XDD I owe my great, great thanks te Aina-lass. XDD "Everlast" was born after a conversation I had with her and it grew in my mind like fungus (XD) so much so that I had to put it down on paper since I was grinning like a maniac and my mother became highly concerned!!! Also, I had to go on with my life and not slip into some scene from this story. XD This will be either a two-shot or three-shot, I am still not sure. (wink)**

**So, yes, another update from yours truly. Now, before my mom decides te betray her composure and burst into a volcano because my constant computer use, I must make my departure. Thanks for reading!!! Pleeease review!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! **


	2. II Amplexus

**II. Amplexus (Embrace) **

_The depth of darkness to which you can descend and still live is an exact measure of the height to which you can aspire to reach._

--Pliny

Thin fingers of sunlight graced her sleeping form as keen, heavy-lidded dark eyes watched from the not-so-discreet corner near the tall French windows. Sunlight poured like luminescent gold. The knot of his cravat felt uncomfortably tight, choking even as if it were a wounded chain; slowly, he loosened it. Blinking, he allowed himself to settle onto the thick-cushioned vintage chair.

He closed his eyes for a few moments, enjoying the warm rays frolicking across his face while an odd thought made him brood.

When was the last time he'd so freely enjoyed the sunshine?

Van Fanel despised sunlight.

Sunlight was the hypocrisy, the mask, the flashy, ostentatious lies that governed the actions of people. His lips curled, but at night, these same humans reverted to their true selves: primitive, crude, and harsh. Most importantly, they were honest, even if the honesty was disgusting, filthy—shameful. Men wondered indeed about the shadow of darkness Van Fanel carried around him even in the blinding of days, and women were attracted to him for that reason (among many other reasons, more of a salacious nature). No, he had proven the women wrong, stunted their hopes (or delight, he couldn't tell) in finding a man with a dark past fit to be the star of a romance novel. He was incurable—if he was someone to be cured—and this darkness would remain with him as an ally.

But, presently, for the love of God, he could not understand what was so pleasant about this warmth. About her. Critical eyes raked over the soft, pale cheek that he could still remember the feel of, and mass of fragrant hair spread haphazardly around her in sleep.

The first thing he had done upon awakening was run a profile over for her. There was something about her that demanded trust...but still, Van Fanel's cynical, suspicious mind could not be allayed.

The information he discovered was as far from his own family's as was the path of the sun and the moon.

Apparently, Hitomi Kanzaki was the lucrative owner of a chic restaurant, _Fortuna, _and possessed a decently filled bank account, and lived on the outskirts of Manhattan in an apartment. Her father was a proficient, esteemed criminal lawyer, and her mother used to be heart surgeon. He'd inwardly snorted; right, Hitomi's mother could give her father a heart surgery...what kind of father would push a woman towards marriage like that? He shook his head. Mamoru, older by three years, had a respected position as a financial manager.

Bloody hell. They were rather well-settled, weren't they? He smirked dryly; just a _tad _bit.

His gaze once again rested on her as if she was the flame and he the moth that couldn't resist.

As if bewitched and in some trance-like state, nimble in a manner that would even cause envy in a cat, he took brisk steps and leaned over the bed where the object of his inspection lay. His fingers hovered over her peaceful face for a few moments—childishly afraid if he breathed too closely to her she would awaken—and then delicately, as if the skin beneath would evaporate into dust if too much pressure was applied, he brushed the loose strands of her hair from her face.

He withdrew his fingers rapidly and formed them into a fist. Cautiously, he stepped away from her, his body impassive except for the gentle tremor of his hands.

The soft click of the door signaled his departure.

He felt disgusting.

OOO

With a loud yawn, a smile upturning her lips, thus Hitomi Kanzaki awoke. In two months, five had the been the most number of hours she'd slept and getting a rich whopping, nine hours was a blessing. The day was perfect, she could sense it and she found herself grinning up to her ears and doing a childish thing—sighing deeply in contentment and whispering a prayers of thanks with a gathering of her shoulders and her face lifted towards the heavens that was confined by the ceiling.

The bed had been magnificent with traces of the smell of man soothing her.

Not any man's, she realized with a jolt, the initial drowsiness fleeing into the air. Van Fanel's. It was faintly woodsy, exotic, and warm.

If she'd paid more attention, she would've realized, there was a maid wiping the fine (in her opinion, non-existent) dust away from the lamps and tables.

The young maid's voice came out with a squeak of surprise, "Oh, miss! I didn't know you were awake—I'm sorry!" she looked miserable, biting her lips and clutching her apron in which she wiped her tense, sweaty palms.

Hitomi Kanzaki jerked and came to face the flustered, pink face of a very young-looking maid, and smiled tentatively (she was a bear in the morning, most of the times—you just had to ask Mamoru). "No, it's alright, really." She grinned, "Considering the fact that my," she thought for a moment of a tactful way to describe him and settled on a vague description, "_friend's_ deserted me, I'm happy to have some company." She smiled benevolently, the world seeming a globe highlighted by the welcoming sun. As far as she was concerned, the world was beautiful, and _now_ held some promise.

A shy smile tugged at the corners of her lips and the maid ventured towards Hitomi. "If you don't mind me saying—you're different, miss."

"It's Hitomi," she said automatically, her reply invoking curiosity about her rescuer.

Her lips were a firm line. "We haven't liked any of the women he's been..._involved_...with." Hitomi's eyes rounded. She cut to the chase, didn't she? The maid continued heatedly, "Our Mr. Fanel deserves someone better—the women want the same thing: his money," the pale, diminutive maid met her eyes, "and his body."

"H-how do you know Mr. Fanel? Is he a regular here?" her body trembled and she berated herself for leaping into a hole whose depths she had not calculated. What, for God's sake, had she gotten herself into? This man was shrouded in mystery being clearly more than he displayed, letting her make assumptions. She had not been born yesterday to know a man who allowed the powerful advantage of assumptions to govern her evaluation was deadly—and extremely secure. He was also a risk-taker or had nothing to lose. Or both.

It was enough to make the green-eyed woman distinctly uncomfortable as she disentangled herself from the deep ocean of blankets. Amusement flickered in the dark-eyed girl's face, "Mr. Van Slanzar de Fanel—your '_friend'_—owns the _Madison _hotel."

Her hair clip slipped from her fingers.

OOO

She paced. Dressed in loose slacks, a crisp French cuffed white shirt, and a thick green cable sweater that had taken a lot of convincement to wear from the maid—what was this? Probably some lover's clothes and she _so_ did not want to think of the night clothes she had worn and, she gulped, the undergarments. How they fit to perfection, she simply _refused_ herself to brood over. Which faceless female had donned the same articles and ended up making love to him on the same bed she'd slept on? Ohh, she would have a talk with this Mr. I-Am-Oh-So-Sure; she was no more chained to him as a bird was restricted to land. Things weren't made better when Miki, the maid, had thought she was his latest lover. She grit her teeth. A not-so-funny joke for a virgin.

She couldn't hide her surprise.

Miki had also confessed about him—the anxiety creeping into her eyes as she realized the anger in the green eyed-girl's face. Apparently, his employees not only worshipped the ground he walked upon—they looked up to him as a big brother. How this man could evoke such a profound sense of loyalty she was clueless, but, she mused, he was a man that _commanded_ loyalty, didn't compromise. The young maid had been an abused wife when she'd come running to him, desperate to find work and stand on her own feet, away from her husband. He'd not only paid for the apartment for six months, the man also made sure she had gotten a divorce and a secure job.

The last piece had left her astonished, wordless. No woman before her had spent the night in this room, though certainly visited.

A man full of contradictions, Hitomi Kanzaki didn't know what to make of Van Fane—

"You're going to get wrinkled early if you keep frowning like that," a male voice drawled.

_Bingo. Speak of the devil._

She looked up at him, the tall, coolly detached male, and steadied herself, her look still defiant. "Thank-you very much for your generosity," she spoke through her teeth, ignoring his comment, "but if you please, I'll make my departure _now_."

He was passive, as if she'd just stated that the world was round, "What's bothering you?"

She'd intended to say something else, but the honesty came out of her lips before she could help it. "_You!_" She clutched her sweater and cried exasperatedly, "These _clothes—everything_!"

She felt like shaving off that dark eyebrow when he simply raised it as if amused, "If you'd rather be naked," his eyes winked devilishly in the light, "then I wouldn't particularly object to such a state of _dress_."

The rosy blush, the widening of her pretty eyes, and the hot expression brought about great satisfaction in the male, enough to make him smile inwardly. She, however, fumed. "I am not one of your," she bit out the word, "_dolls_ you can play with any time and then leave to buy a new one, Mr. Fanel!" She shot him a disgusted smirk, "Though you're probably affluent enough to buy a new one each night to keep you company."

_...affluent? How—_

"Your maid rather tactfully informed me that she approved of your choice," her voice was icy to the depths. Then silence.

His voice had a catch, certain hoarseness. "Your clothes are new—all of them." A distinct shiver crawled across her spine, which was unreasonable because of the warmth of the thick sweater. "Nobody except me has occupied that bed before you."

She didn't know how to answer; she inquired inwardly, not for the first time, how the heroines in romance novels seemed to have the _perfect_ answer for any such comments made by the brooding man.

Oh yes, belatedly, she had to remind herself.

This was certainly not a romance. He was no hero, and she no heroine. This was no lush world of romance and the sun might as well set in the east before he harbored any _sort_ of feelings for her. Not even in her dreams—or imagination (and Hitomi Kanzaki had an imagination that could scare a person to the heights of the sky) could allow her think ahead of the situation.

"Sorry." The word slipped out of her lips and she hastily felt like she wanted to grab it out of the air and put it back into her lungs where they belonged. Her brother had constantly teased her for talking faster than a flying jet—and here she was...incoherent, unable to form a legitimate answer.

When she dared to meet his eyes, it was with a pleasant surprise she found no mockingly raised brows, none of the sarcasm.

He smiled a crooked small smile and she ignored the jump of her heart.

A smile lit her face automatically and she coughed embarrassedly, pushing away the strand of her hair that had come loose covering her eyes, "We—we do have a certain way of getting at a bad beginning." She looked at him squarely and arched her brow sassily, "Though you can't blame my shock when," she cast a sweeping glance and gestured, "when I realized you _owned_ this place."

"How about a truce?"

"The first intelligent remark I've heard from you," she grinned, revealing pearly teeth. Jauntily, she offered him her hand.

The air hummed to the soundless tune.

He closed the distance between them, his large hand encompassing hers, pulling her closer. It was then she realized that his eyes did not match the darkness of the night, no. They were tinted with the color of cinnamon and red wine, a heady mixture that glowed, effectively making her rather weak in her feet.

"I accept." There was a deeper meaning to the words, her head cried triumphantly already imagining possibilities, but her heart, her heart was firm with its denial. Wasn't a woman's heart wiser in these matters than her head? No, a man did not fall in _love _in less than twenty-four hours. Especially not with her. The other four-letter _l_ word might as well not exist in her vocabulary. Lust wasn't a word that went together with Hitomi Kanzaki.

Hitomi Kanzaki could be the beauty queen of _any_ pageant—if she was the only one competing.

"We should celebrate," she grinned wickedly.

"Really?" he was amused. "How so?" Oh, he had a few suggestions...

"The bane in every man's existence—shopping, of-course!"

"Shopping!" His face crumpled into a frown like a Christmas wrapper, "For what items? You can order it and it'll be delivered—" and for once she was glad he responded as any male would.

"I think I'll simply go crazy if I pace around in this room and think more of my wedding." She gave a sideways smile, "And besides I am going to check into another hotel for another day tonight—"

"You bloody will _not_!" He was gruff as he interrupted, then softened his tone, back to his teasing, sarcastic self. "I think I could bear the horror of you for another night and I am not sure what another man would do with your trusting soul since you have no credit cards to speak of." _Look who speaks,_ his brain riled.

"Oh dear, your hospitality is choking me with feeling," and then she frowned, he guessed, because of the lack of credit-cards. She had no purse.

He mollified her fears, why, he wasn't sure. "This one's on me."

"Uhh, no, really," she looked at her toes, "I don't think I could ac—"

He grinned, "Yes, _really_." He did enjoy flustering her, seeing the shy look. "I'll give your father a ring if you happen to exceed the limit on my card." His credit-card had no limit.

"I'll only accept if you come along with me," she smiled. She batted her eyelashes prettily, "What if my poor trusting soul gets cajoled by some man—"

"Let's go," he interjected curtly, grasping her elbow.

She smothered her laughter, her eyes trained on his, crinkled and glowing.

OOO

"I can't believe we're going to_ Saks_!" she seethed. Alright, it irritated her enough that the clothes on her back would be paid by him—but garments from _Saks_—that was unacceptable. All items were extravagantly priced, something that perturbed her not-so-spend-thrift inclinations.

"If I am to be caught in a store, it might as well be _Saks_," he almost smiled, "or I'll be accused of being a penny-pincher." Hell, he didn't care of what others thought of him and he wouldn't have minded going to a store like _Walmart_ either if she'd wanted to. But for some unfathomable reason, he decided _Walmart_ just wouldn't do for his little companion.

"By whom?" she growled.

He shrugged nonchalantly, that somehow seemed rather unnatural with his stern nature and she bit back a tiny smile. How he could get her from angry at one moment, smiling the next was a mystery.

She shielded her eyes from the sun as they exited the hotel, and immediately parked in front of them was an impressive sleek, black limo with a bulky-looking driver holding out the door respectfully, and her inquiring gaze confirmed that they were indeed going in it.

Oh, but she wasn't, she was firm about that. "Van Fanel, this is a perfectly wonderful day to be walking," she gestured to the surroundings, people walking the streets of Manhattan. "The sunlight is splendid; the day is warm with a slight chill..." She rather liked leisure walks in parks and around her neighborhood when she wasn't running.

He scowled, burying his hands into the abyss of his pockets, and reading the message in his eyes (something Hitomi Kanzaki decided she _must _simply learn to keep her brother at bay) the driver smoothly drove off.

She smiled, giving him a side-ways glance in which she couldn't help but admire his profile. There was something harshly primitive about this man, as if he contained a depth that he didn't reveal to the surface, something mysteriously magnetic. _Out of your league, girl. Totally._ She gulped, and the stray smile once again curled up in its resting place when she decided that she would enjoy this beautiful, crazy dream as long as she could—maybe one day when she was ancient and on her rocking chair looking at the sunset, she'd think of the dark haired Prince Charming who'd swept her away and relish in the warmth of that memory.

Ohh yes, 'warm' did define him. Maybe even 'hot.' As they made their way in the teeming streets overwhelmed by walking people, he'd reached out and clasped her hand into his large, warm one—a perfect fit. "Don't want to lose you." If in another situation, perhaps those words would've met something else, having a more romantic undercurrent, but no, this was first of all, Hitomi Kanzaki he was referring to. Romance and Hitomi Kanzaki were poles apart, like the parallel lines that never met.

"Thanks," but it was muffled because of the noise outside. A push, tug, these were normal as they hacked their way through the crowd and she felt doubly grateful for his unyielding hold. There was something exotic about Manhattan, something exciting—the steady stream of men and women dressed in business outfits, the flashy lights of popular hangouts.

He felt an absurd surge of protectiveness towards her, illogically afraid that she'd get lost in the hording masses, slip away without notice, disappear, leave him. A smile played across his lips as they fell in pace, both quiet, yet the silence was comfortable, not yawning. This part of the street was not crowded and the hand-holding was not necessary, but he still wrapped hers in his, warming her, without realizing, to the tips of her toes.

Finally, they reached the glistening white sign boldly presenting _SAKS_ and she took a deep breath, then climbed the stairs with him.

His hand still enclosed hers.

When she tugged it, it was then he realized that he hadn't let go. Slowly, reluctantly, he released her, his guarded eyes betraying nothing. Van Fanel was a connoisseur in veiling his emotions thus one couldn't decipher the look in his face unless he chose to disclose it.

A sharp, keen stab of loss struck him as she tilted her head upwards and asked curiously, "Are you alright?"

He smiled and nodded in affirmative and her reply was a tentative beam and then she turned to walk towards an aisle of women's clothing.

The dagger carved deeper.

_The prices are outrageous_, she thought, automatically sifting through the garments when a familiar tingling at her nape made her turn around. He was there, his gaze intense, unfathomable again, and momentarily she halted, her eyes searching into his, trying to coax out his meanings—when an overeager sales lady chirped.

"_Hi!_ Do you need any help?" Reaching out to a peach cashmere sweater she glowed, "Ohh, this would look _divine_."

He was mere inches away from her, an amused look lingering on his face, as the sales lady rattled off while Hitomi tried to explain what kind of top she'd wanted after choosing a skirt, "No, no! Nothing quite like that—something quite simple."

"Try that," he pointed towards a rose colored, off-the shoulder, ribbed tweed cashmere sweater and he could only raise his brow when the two women looked at him as if he was an alien—little, green and all.

With wide eyes, Hitomi spoke in relief, "Actually, it _does_ look rather nice." Nonchalantly, blissfully unaware of the kind of picture she made with him—one of a devoted couple, she asked, "Van, what do you think?" There were many articles of clothing Hitomi Kanzaki admired, except, of-course, that they looked good on certain people—which was not her.

He grinned cheekily, acting the whole part of a debonair male, "Considering that I recommended it, the answer is yes."

She made a face as she made her way through towards the counter where she placed it, "Cynic."

He only blinked, a shadow of a smile still loitering.

"Uuuh," she halted abruptly, looking uncertainly at him, placing a loose tendril of her hair behind her ear, "would you mind waiting here for me?" she positively mumbled the next sentence but he caught every word, "I have to get something."

But, Van Fanel was somehow feeling an odd emotion of elation, of contentment—something mysteriously extraordinary for him, and he decided seeing Hitomi Kanzaki in an uncomfortable position was one of the few pleasures in life and never one to turn down a mystery, so this, he decided, he had to see.

A mere incline of brow conveyed his message, "_No_."

"Ugh!" she exclaimed in frustration, rolling her eyes heavenward, "you'll regret this." Together—actually Hitomi had tried to stomp ahead of him, but he'd kept up the pace—they went to the ominous section where she had been reluctant for his company. She feverishly wanted to run across the street and drown herself into the nearest river as a momentary smirk found its way across his lips.

He did and didn't, regret that is. The area of her intense embarrassment was the lingerie section. Lacy, delicate intimate wear ranging in a variety of colors were hung invitingly on flimsy hangers. Underwear with shocking nets and bustiers glowed sultrily in the light.

A woman chimed towards them, grinning widely, "Do you know that we have the most exquisite bridal lingerie sale? Would you two be interested?" She blinked and once she caught eyes of Van Fanel, her open smile became more secretive, womanly—seductive.

He smiled slowly, "I think you have to ask the signora."

"Well," her voice became distinctly soft, intimate, "A man's pleasure is involved as well..."

His lips trembled as his eyes skated to the green-eyed woman. She look incredulous, not sure if she wanted to hop into a well, or throw the woman into one.

"I'm sure anything," his lambent eyes seemed to caress her, "that _pleases _ the lady would bring pleasure to me."

A permanent blush diffused through her cheeks, and Van Fanel decided he would rest near the column—not because he felt an ounce of decency or obligation, but rather he thought this would lighten her nerves and he could observe her natural reaction with leisure. Pleasure was a forbidden word to Hitomi Kanzaki in context with males. _Oh no, I am not even going to think of it..._

He leaned across the column, letting her wander through the maze of negligees and underclothes, the persistent woman at her heels. A black, embroidered, lacy bra beckoned with its matching underwear. A smile tugged at his lips, his eyes already heating to a magenta glow, as he wondered how that particular piece would latch onto the curves of the green-eyed woman.

Of-course, he didn't bother to think _why_ he'd ever have that particular curiosity fulfilled.

His jaw was set as he watched with his incisive eyes, his guess right as she headed towards more virginal, simple bras. He mentally shook his head, thinking of her husband, imagining a warm sort of fellow who'd tease her, laugh with her, give her a stable home and even steadier arms. For surely, she would leave. Like the seasons that came and went, like the influx of people, she would also make her departure, disappear from his reach.

He stiffened. The husband would have a right to her company, moreover a right to her bed, her heat...

Yet, he disliked brooding about such melancholic thoughts. He'd found his distraction from his normal routine which had become mundane, and had dismissed the waning weight of contentment he'd once found. Van Fanel did not attach himself to any individual so rapidly; in fact, he'd never attached himself to anyone in eight years. But, like the gravity that grounded him, he was pulled to her by an inexplicable force out of his control. Uncontrollable, savage, nonsensical described the fluid of feelings that skittered in his veins, in his very being, for her. For a deeply analytical man, he found no answer to explain this sudden zeal—maybe, except only the fact that it was her sheer existence, her mere breath, her look towards him, her tone, and her person that elicited such a reaction.

He shrugged his eyes still fastened onto his target, and to an observer, he resembled a, tall, skulking crow safeguarding his territory.

OOO

Evening fell in deep chimerical hues of pale lilac, creased with dusky salmon.

They crossed the threshold of the magnificent hotel room, and Hitomi, with happy exhaustion dumped the bags of their purchase, _their_ because the purchases made by Van for her since she'd refused to buy them herself. _Really!_ She didn't know whether to _admonish_ or _laugh_ at the man because at another time, in another place, this act would've been endearing.

He was quiet, as usual, but his gaze was nevertheless unsettling. Before him, she felt bare, as if she'd been stripped and he could see into her, read her mind, and perceive her foolish fantasies. It was awkward, the way he switched modes so quickly, being talkative, teasing, then reserved, and acutely observant.

Regardless, she sunk into a chair, not caring how mussed her hair became, and smiled, "So, are you convinced that shopping _is_ a sport?"

What seemed like a snort, escaped, "No," his eyes were intimate, drawing her effortlessly in to the circle of his attention as he sat in a seat across hers, "I think it's pure, unadulterated _manual labor_."

She laughed, a joyous, carefree laugh that had a way of making her glow, "Good one! I've been trying to convince my brother that if cheerleading can be a sport, then shopping can as well if you look at the amount of fatigue it leaves a token!"

He raised his brow, "Since you're in such good humor," He continued, "Perhaps this is the best time to show you what the public thinks of us—" he actually grinned looking at her look like a doe caught in the headlights, "before Miki informs you."

"_Public?_" her voice came like a squeak, immediately straightening her lax position.

He nodded and from behind him, he produced the glossy copy of the _National Enquirer_.

Her jaw dropped at the photo, then at the bold, flashing headlines. '_Fidelity for Fanel?'_

A low groan tore from her throat as her eyes glided over the picture. Her hair resembled something a crow would've attacked, her white dress had been spotted with dirt and the delicate sleeves and hem torn—and her face, her face was positively _glowing_.

Glowing _pink_, that is.

His picture, however, looked as if he had stepped out of a photo shoot for a men's magazine and holding a disheveled woman by the arm beside him seemed _perfectly_ natural.

Ohhh yes, her non-existent respect for the _Enquirer _plummeted to negative levels. The author had been unable to dig out information on Hitomi on such a short notice so the caption was a paragraph long. And harsh.

_Has the Fanel finally found his match? She would've been splendid for him eight years ago, if you're looking at the rags. So, who is this mysterious, (homely) Cinderella who resembles a rescued stray kitten attacked by dogs? We're sure to find out. If Fanel is going for looks, then even last year's Evelyn Daniels would do. He must certainly suppress his past—but as this author guesses, the past is never left behind for this man. The question still lingers: Is Ms. Disheveled his past or future?_

Her lips thinned into a tight line and with a calm demeanor that was impressive, she immaculately folded the piece of paper.

"Hitomi?" he didn't have to know her for years to guess that this was a Hitomi out of character, that there was something wrong. "Do you want me to call and stop the distribution of these newspapers?" He frowned deeply, "I could give my lawyer a call."

"_No!_" She gave him a weak smile, "it's useless anyway. Enough papers have already been distributed." No, luck was definitely miles away from her. "I've got to face my present—my future." _Dad won't be a bit glad about this. Lovely._

Van Fanel didn't care a whit about what papers wrote about him but some nerve within him twisted as her face had paled slightly while she'd read.Her expression however became introspective and she looked at him with a questioning curiosity.

"The papers—they said something about you eight years ago? What were they referring to?"

She'd spoken softly, as if instinctively knowing that this was like treading on an icy lake. She had been right. He was hiding something.

He gestured her to a seat, and he sat down himself beside her, though keeping at a distance. He had realized that being close to her did strange things to him—foreign, nameless desires surfaced. "Eight years ago," he gave a bitter smile, "I hadn't a cent on my name." His eyes were hooded, as if not trusting them—hell, around her, he felt he could trust no part of himself. Why he was even talking to her about his past was a mystery. Oh yes, he told himself, _lied_ to himself by saying that all of his past lovers, acquaintances, had more knowledge about his life than he himself remembered, supplied generously by newspapers and magazines—and he was just educating her.

Warning her to stay away from him.

Not that he could understand why a woman such as her could _want_ him, let alone _need_ him. No, he was giving her a good foundation for her to turn her back on him, so if he did make a move, she would refuse, be repulsed by him, think him sordid, dirty, and what he was at heart—a worthless, trashy street brat.

She waited for him to continue, knowing that somehow this proud man was baring himself, baring his soul naked with all the gaps, holes, and imperfections. And her heart squeezed, her eyes looked at him in new light. This was a man who was suffering, and no amount of wealth wiped the aura of coolness and darkness.

"Before that, I had a younger brother—_Madison_—oh my mother loved him. Father left two days before he was born." He attempted a smile, but failed, "Madison was...charismatic, even at six. Strong yet frail." He fisted his palms, "All he'd ever wanted was to reach the stars, and he dreamed about it, talked to me about it — asked me things I had no knowledge of." His eyes looked at his own hands, long fingers, "He wanted to be exactly like me when he grew up but Mother died when he was three and without her, everything decayed." His throat tightened, he felt choked. He remembered the darkness, the tears he'd hidden from the public, the dam that had burst, the way his body had shaken when he'd released the throbbing grief, leaning beside a trash dump—his future as dead as the stench of the waste.

"Van..." her eyes were a melting pool of emerald, compassionate, understanding. He had no desire to look into them. He did not want sympathy. It was his fault, after all.

"Madison never reached his seventh birthday." Some part of him died with him, the part that could love, that could appreciate the innocence that could hope for the bright tomorrow. A chill crept up her nape. His voice had this voidness, a certain flatness, aloofness that she wanted to shake him, pull him into her arms, _kiss_ him, slap him—anything to get a reaction. "He caught typhoid—bad water. Died two nights later."

Her fingers felt numb.

He gracefully lifted himself from the seat beside her and walked towards the window looking somewhere beyond the bustle of the city below, somewhere into the past, "Then for two years, I wandered," _tortured, hungry, lonely. _He blinked, "I realized my affinity towards numbers—everything was counted, when I was young, every penny, I had to keep track to survive. At twenty, I worked as a cargo boy—loading ships. The manager," he twisted his mouth in a cynical manner, "_discovered_ this particular kinship of numbers when I noticed a mistake in his ledgers and fixed it."

"Van," he hadn't realized she was beside him, a finger barely brushing his arm, her mouth trying to form words that would not come. He slowly raked his eyes over her face, finding only kindness. _Damn._

"When the boss later discovered I did the ledgers while the bastard lounged, I was promoted, and he got kicked on his ass. He was cheating him off by thousands." He took in a harsh, grating breath. "Three years later, I was the boss' right-hand man. I hated that." He barked out a callous laugh, "I was a selfish bastard. I wanted something of my own. I wanted a star amongst these earthly delights—" He gasped, backed away from her as her fingers firmed on his arm, "_Don't touch me!_" Startled, she pulled away as if electrocuted, and the look in her eyes had him slain. Her eyes, sea-green, vibrant, brimming with life, carried a desperate yearning, dazzling with unshed tears.

Nobody in his life had ever wanted to shed any tears for him. How could he explain that every time she touched him, looked at him, spoke to him, he wanted to grasp hold of her, wrench her into his arms, smother her—overwhelm her? Every woman before her had tried to melt him, but in their faces, he saw the sordid excitement, the anticipation of some sick, dark secret, the fantasies playing in their eyes like on a silver screen. But she—_she_ wanted to pull it into herself, let the pain seep into her, she wanted to make him laugh, loosen the hard exterior. He made her ache and the forbidding face was not encouraging as she checked her impulse to hold his hand into her own.

What Van Fanel, however, wanted, was more fortifying than holding hands. He didn't want sympathy. He was a master of his own Fate. He had fashioned himself, it was his own fault...

"I was damnable. I procured a loan to start this venture—a mere pauper with a credit not a bit trustable." He curled his lip in loathing, "The woman wouldn't give me the loan, but you see—I had something she wanted." Her stomach dropped, sweat tingled on her palms. "She decided that this _insignificant_ factor about my non-existent credit history could be," he groped for the right words, "_overlooked_, and concluded that a cold bed was not at all what she looked forward to that winter night."

He didn't have to say it. She knew.

But he did. Because he didn't want to want her, he wanted to see the nausea on her face, the abhorrence.

"I fucked her and the loan was mine," deliberately using the vulgar word to unsettle her.

The air was still, and it was as if everything moved slowly, her soft gasp, her eyes that shivered like a heat wave, and a tear, sparkling under the lamp light with iridescent colors, streaked down her face.

_God!_

There was something heart-wrenching in the scene, like the peeling of innocence. She turned away from him, her shoulders shaking, trying to hide from his eyes, her face blotchy, and the deep shuddering sobs continued. She didn't know why she was crying. It was him and everything going on lately. It burst forth like a fountain that had been suppressed.

She wasn't even sure what happened first, one moment he was standing, remote, unapproachable, and the next moment, Hitomi Kanzaki was enveloped in a fierce embrace. He held her, rocked her, and murmured her name as a plea—showering unspoken promises in the very act. When she finally quieted, he was still, the world had suspended time, and everything around them paused to gape.

Slowly, he released her, backing away from her, and softly, he spoke, trying to soften his rejection with humor. "Go back home Little Red before the Big Bad Wolf eats you."

Her eyes, like watery leaves met his unfalteringly and for once, Van Fanel could not meet a person's gaze. She was not amused and with a control that would make a general proud, she took a step towards him.

His voice was unpalatable, "My neighbors were dumpsters and drunkards. Madison and I used to curl up on doorsteps during winter." _Don't come near me._ She did, with unfailing feeling.

"I was filthy, stole. I am a bastard. My father never married my mother—" _Don't come near me._ One step closer, till her breath collided with his chest.

"I used to scavenge through people's trash cans, beg during the nights, my companions were druggies, thieves." _Don't come near me. _She wrapped her arms around his torso, pressed her cheek onto his heart, offering her warmth, her embrace. "Hitomi, I sold myself—gave my self away."

"Stop," she whispered, her voice wavering with feeling. "Don't do this to yourself, Van."

"_No_," he inhaled raggedly, answering her request, but it was also a response to his body's reactions, his arms that looped around her, hauling her closer as if the sheer space between them was painful, "I'm horrible, Hitomi, I'm a brute." He placed his cheek to the silkiness of her hair, his hot breath hitting the side of her neck intermittently, making her shiver. There was a downright need in the inflection of his voice, hoarse with emotion, similar to when a man came to terms with his insanity. "_You_. Don't do this to me." He embraced her savagely, his voice lined with a feverish cadence. "Run away." His actions contradicted his mind, as his powerful arms held her in a vice-like grip, blatantly refusing to withdraw from their secure place on her back.

"I'm not going anywhere," she admitted resolutely, her eyes closing shut, her mind embracing his past, his being. She had never been enfolded like this, never been touched so intimately, so profoundly that it left her weak, dizzy, trembling—yet feeling graceful and strong—not unlike the silvery oaks.

When his lips brushed her neck, Hitomi Kanzaki stiffened like a floor board.

Embracing, yes, caressing, yes, but _kissing_? For that moment, Hitomi seriously doubted why he would even think of wanting to kiss her. It was surely accidental...no, this was not romantic, not at—

She gasped, his lips now deliberately sliding up and down her neck, the combination of the touch of his mouth and cool air around them, leaving her incoherent. "_Van_," she whispered brokenly, not knowing what to do, to say.

Abruptly, he withdrew, looked at her with a gaze akin to that of a desperate lost, sailor. With a shaky smile, he pulled his arms away and as if a man had seen a ghost, he backed away once again, his eyes conveying his message to stay afar. He slumped into a corner, his eyes now hooded, while a strong feeling of incompletion seared through Hitomi. "Am I disgusting?" his words were a bare whisper, ephemeral like a murmur of trees.

Her eyes widened, a pool of emerald, and she dropped to her knees besides him, as he watched with her with dark, flame-like eyes. Slowly, emphatically, she assured, "From the moment I actually spoke to you in the church, I _never_ thought you were disgusting." She met his eyes firmly, "Not yesterday, not today, _especially_ not now." Her palm rested on his shoulder and she smiled grimly, "Though you scared me when I first met you." She hoped her tone would soften his face, bring a tiny smile in the memory of how they met.

He didn't react as she'd initially hoped he would.

He yanked her face to cover her lips with his own.

He was like a sinner washing his sins away, like a thirsty, deprived being who until now had sand in his throat. His lips were brutal in their tenderness, yet reverent as if they made a sacred pilgrimage—somehow hoping that during the process, he would rid himself of the dirt, of the filth he felt.

He hungered for her, he longed for her.

Awareness shot through her whole body like a pistol when his hands supported her back, then lifted her by the waist effortlessly, to prop her down on his hip, so she straddled him, wrapping her legs around him. The thick sweater did nothing to eclipse the heat that trailed wherever his fingers caressed. He thought he would die with her so intimately cradled, his arousal becoming apparent. He slanted his mouth over hers wildly, while she, rather inexperienced, learned quickly to meet his pace. His tongue erotically outlined her lips making her gasp in astonishment, "Van!"

Deep, rumbling laughter was his reaction as he continued to tease, gently nipping the corners of her mouth, then licking the spot to soothe it. He kissed down her jaw, explored the column of her neck, down to the hollow near her collar bone where he teasingly blew on her skin after his caresses. Her face was flushed, her hands moving to her own accord up to his neck, to the locks of his dark hair. With a sweetness that was aching, he flattened his smiling lips onto her cheek then slipped towards her ear, where he flicked his tongue, successful in eliciting ragged pants and making her tremble. "Do you like it?" he whispered huskily in her ear.

"_Yes_," her voice was breathless. Her mind was gone, demolished, until no rational thought could be processed. Her fingers wandered through his hair, then came to cup his cheek. He parted for a moment, their eyes colliding as she gently with the pad of her palms smoothed his rough cheek and there was a warm, melting look in her eyes that captivated him, her motions so exquisitely gentle like a delicate flame pathway. His long fingers left the security of her waist, traveled upwards, caressing the side of her rounded breasts and with illogical pleasure he observed her amazement, the puff of breath coming out of her lips.

Blushing, she leaned down and planted a kiss at the base of his throat making him groan while she tentatively swept her tongue, then grated her teeth over his skin. "Don't ever leave me. Don't ever leave me, Hitomi..." The words came out with a surprise, so suddenly. His grip on her tightened intentionally.

He jerked at her touch, and with one hand still sweeping the curvaceous breast, his lips found hers. This time, the kiss was much more intimate, needier, and urgent. He cajoled her to open her mouth to his by pressing his tongue onto the pleat of her lips, and once she did, all his control broke loose.

Her mouth was velvet, the smell of roses suddenly bombarding his senses and he kissed her as if he was a dying man, and she, his last supplement of energy. His tongue mingled with hers, urging her to play, while investigating the hot sweetness of her mouth. Hitomi Kanzaki, in all her life, had never let any man invade her privacy in such a way and was as fresh to the experience as a newborn babe who gave its first lusty cry, first breath into the world. Perhaps the correlation was well-suited; she was breathing, living for the first time.

Her voice was low and rasping as she spoke between breaths, "Van, _Van_...slow down." His hands were seemingly everywhere, touching her hip, her waist, covering her chest possessively, his teeth tucking and nipping. "I want to touch you...please _stop_."

There was a moment of silence. His eyes were tempestuous, a passionate mix of decadence and wine. He breathed raggedly, and the smile she gave him was so sheepish like a guilty child asking for a treat, that it made him want to smile. "I'm yours." There was an utterly profound underlying current of surrender, so much so that it was humbling and producing a throbbing sort of yen.

Her face grew serious and with a determined look that could only be endearing, she flattened her palm across his chest, and he watched her curiously as a caged, wild animal keenly observed its prey, yet it was one of wariness and tenderness—but still possessive. He hadn't ever belonged to anyone so much, never wanted to yield, to have the ceiling come crashing down. Hell, it felt heavenly for finally unleashing his true self and not producing a disgusted reaction.

...yet the fear still lingered of her rejection.

Her voice was a ghostly whisper, as she pulled on his earlobe delicately, "I still think I'm dreaming. I'll wake up any moment and see you gone." There was a smile in her voice, but Van Fanel did not feel like smiling at all as his body betrayed him to passion, to her caress and words. She kissed his cheek, the dark, cynical brows that had been raised one too many times and the strong jaw that revealed his firmness, his commanding aura. She softened his features, like the similar effect of an icing over a cake. She smiled to herself, "You have the prettiest eyes, did you know that?"

He grunted, closing the object of her praise, giving himself away to simply feeling her. Her embrace was like a home he had never had, warm, enclosing, steady. Molten, a hot rush of feelings darted through him to the point that he simply wanted to brand her to him, make her his till nothing could take it back. She kissed his lips, tentatively brushing it like strokes of a paintbrush, soft, a rough satin. He groped for her, his lips violent and encouraged by his response she quickened her pace, eliciting a groan from his lips as her hands drifted down to his hip.

He laughed harshly, pulling away, his hands trembling, still holding her in a cocoon, "No, Hitomi. Not unless..."

Her lips were swollen; a dark rose of passion and her eyes never leaving his, silently her fingers trembled as she slowly undid the top buttons on his crisp shirt. He closed his eyes momentarily as the friction of her fingers was like a flame everywhere they grazed on his skin. He rasped, "No, sweet—it shouldn't be like this." He grasped her hand and bringing it to his lips, kissed it. He knew enough from her kisses that she'd acted like an innocent, it was lined in every caress, every look, all the awe—and bloody hell, it had been the most arousing thing ever.

"Why?" she inquired, almost apprehensively.

He smiled, _truly_ smiled. "Because," his thumb carefully voyaged over her lips which she bit gently, "I want this to be special—nothing rushed like your past ones." He'd rather not think of any past man touching her, laying a finger on her, feeling her...

Her brow raised and mild amusement lurked in the depths of her shining spring eyes, "And what if there're no 'past ones' to even consider?"

His breath hitched, he went rigid, "What do you mean?"

"I'm a virgin."

His whisper was volatile, "_Jesus!_" His arms came around her like shackles, crushing her to him till she could be sure she _felt_ his heart beat onto her own. "You can't be _real_. You can't..." He was silent for a few moments, just holding her so tightly as one held to a security blanket, "I can't do it." It was a rough whisper, a hoarse confession. He didn't feel dirty, no, it was something deeper. Bloody hell. He couldn't take her here for her first time, not in this manner...

It simply felt illicit, illegal, as if he was stealing and Van Fanel had given up on thievery eight years ago.

He cupped her nape, "Your first—I would never forgive myself if it's like this," he loosened his hold, "and don't disagree with me."

Reluctantly, she extracted herself from him and the picture she painted was so amusing that he smiled. Her hair was thoroughly tousled, her cheeks pink, her eyes unnaturally bright, and her lips were the criminal evidence of their activity—slightly inflamed.

But the veil of his mystery still lingered. She was still not sure exactly what he felt towards her. Lust? Affection?

Or...she didn't even dare hope for the other four letter "l" word.

It couldn't be. _No, no no! _She didn't...she didn't feel _that_ for him...did she?

His eyes were sherry and exotic cinnamon, illuminated by something she couldn't render.

OOO

He had left only when an urgent call demanded his attention and even then, he had growled like a hungry wolf deprived from his meal. With her legs curled under her side, she smiled dreamily, still relishing in the memory of his tender kisses and how she had to laugh and run away from him to make him stop...

Not because she had wanted to, but because it was overwhelming, heady, and she knew she would come undone...and he still hadn't—

Deeply engrossed in her thought, she suddenly realized that the answering machine was on, taking a message for the errant owner of the _Madison_.

The voice was of a woman's, experienced, and confident, and possessing a sultry tone that seduced men, "Where are you, darling?" The voice drawled, and Hitomi felt a swift, eye-rolling kind of irritation. "James said you showed up this morning but you know how it is... I wasn't there." The woman's tone changed to a laughing, light-hearted one, "I saw you in the _Enquirer. _My, my, one month away from me and you start to look deprived. Anyway, once you finish fucking the raggedy Ann—which I have no doubt you're probably doing now," Hitomi gasped, paled, "crawl back to my bed." With a moment of thought, she added, "You always do. Fanel, one day you'll realize that you don't give a fuck about these women you pick up—come back to my bed and stop screwing the girl you're gonna leave anyway." The last sentence made Hitomi furious and revolt beyond anything, as the woman teasingly added, "Your fiancée—_moi_—simply can't find the release in someone else." The woman chuckled.

The phone clicked—but a dozen other things clicked in her mind.

He was a liar. He'd deceived her, he'd humiliated her—he was most likely laughing right now—the past, oh yes, the past had been probably a complete fallacy. He'd had enough lovers as the number of hair on his eyebrow, well enough to act out. An act, yes, that's what it was. A huge act.

She sunk to the floor, her body trembling, feeling sick, wanting to wretch out. Standing up once again and grasping the notepad near the phone, anger aimed at herself for her naivety, her hope, fueling her movements, she scrawled down her note.

_Thank you very much for your generosity with the expensive clothes et al. Don't dally with me while your fiancée waits for you. The past—was it something you'd concocted, laughed at me for believing? A lovely pickup scheme, that's what it was. You're right, I am innocent and shouldn't have trusted you—no, I shouldn't have trust myself with you, let you kiss me. _

_The error is mine._

_--**Hitomi Kanzaki** _

OOO

Fifteen mintues later, Miki entered the master suite, dusting the furniture and straightening the papers here and there. When she eyed the answering machine, and the light that indicated that there was a message, she pressed it. A groan came from her lips when she listened to who it was, and promptly, without thought, hit 'delete'. Mr. Fanel had not only assigned her to look after his quarters but to check his messages and he'd strictly told her to erase the messages received from a particular woman—Kate Renee, whom the maid considered lower than the lowest scum on earth.

She was curious as to where the green eyed woman had gone. Perhaps, she'd departed alone or Mr. Fanel had come to get her. She shrugged, and once finished, closed the door behind her.

Kate Renee grinned hungrily.

She slid the card ten minutes later, opening the magnificent door to Van Fanel's splendid suite. Lover boy shouldn't have been so trusting. She still had his cards and access to the _Madison_.

Sauntering into the room, the mere presence of being in the suite was enough to spur her fantasy of what she would do with him. Perhaps, she mused, that's really what she liked about him, what any woman could like about him. He was more open minded to base desires, was un-afraid to experiment sexually.

She threw her handbag on the table near the answering machine and it was then her eyes hit upon a sheet of paper that fell to the ground.

A devious grin widened as she read, then crumpled the paper and tossed it into the bin. Kate Rennee had never been literary, but she had one asset.

Instincts. She could guess what had taken place and if ever anybody knew how to butcher with words, it was her.

Gripping a pen and new sheet of paper, she set her mind whizzing, deciding that she would let her poison sink in. After all, it was always arousing to have a man begging and that's what she would make him do. He would come running to her. Bury himself in her, forget about that worthless, twit.

OOO

A shaky grin seemed to be carved onto his lips as he turned the knob of the door and opened the door.

"Sorry, I got late!"

Except, there was silence.

But his grin widened, okay, so she wanted to play hide and seek. He would do so. "Hitomi," he opened the closets calling out her name, "Wherever you are—God help you once I find you." He smiled wider as he checked the bathroom. No sign of her. His cheery mood waned, "Hitomi?" He looked even under the bed, brushing away the curtains, under his desk...

Not a trace.

The cold reality was slow to come, but once he spotted the paper on his desk that he hadn't remembered seeing, it came like a raging ice-storm.

_Thank-you for your generosity—the expensive clothes et al._

_It was fun playing innocent with you to a degree. I think I did rather well, don't you think so? The fact is that you disgust, revolt me, Van. You make my skin crawl. You sicken me. I hated the way you touch me. _

_Beneath all that shiny polish, you are what you are. A greasy gutter-dweller. _

**_--Hitomi Kanzaki_**

He was passive, rigid as if frozen, but beneath his surface a trembling hate boiled not unlike lava in a volcano waiting to erupt. His face was like a hard shell while his hands forcefully crumpled the slip of paper. The crystal, rose-filled vase beside him went crashing on the wall, until it shattered into a million shiny pieces, the roses falling pathetically with scattered petals. _Bitch_.

**Review Replies: **

**Anjel10520: **Thanks for being my first reviewer!!!! :laughs nervously: What gift? Heh, my mother has never read (thank God!!!) any of my stuff. She knows I write, though. :P Thank you for the compliments and I'm really happy you like my stuff!!!!!! It makes it all worth it. :D

**Execrable-angel: **:sheepish grin: Thanks a lot! I do love Van in this one as well... He's really quite harsh, not your euphemism kinda guy. Yeah, and there's quite a bit of language in this one...sorry for that. Heh.

**Geminia: **XDD Glad to serve you. :D Thanks a bunch. Keep reading please!! XD really don't want to get kicked in the stomach.

**Spirit0: **XD Your questions answered? Haha, btw, glad to see your review. XD They tend to scare me and yet put a smile on my face. :P:D

**Tramie: **:grins madly: Hope you've liked what I have thus far... Thanks a lot.

**Galene: **:blushes: Thanks.

**F-zelda: **Yes yes, me trying to update ASAP. Sorry for its lateness, but school has been murder, needless to say. :P

**Dreamingofflyingaway: **XDD Narcotics? mock outrage XDDD LOL, as I say, in the marriage to the Muse, insanity is the dowry. :P:D :hugs: Glad to see you, girl. You really amaze me, woman!!! Go work on a looong piece and make me happy so I can have something good to read!!!

**Sakura Onto Hitomi: **You flatter me too much. :P Thanks and I'm glad you're enjoying the read and the wiiiild adventure. :D:D

**Aja: **Have you had your head checked recently??? Me not the best at all!!! XD Weeell, it's not too short, eh?? :grins:

**Sush:** :smiles: And what do you think o' the direction now? Hehehe...

**Fireangel621: **Thanks. What do you think of this? :P

**Miroku34:** XD Dearly has so many chaps, this babe will have to do with a few. Anyway, I still hope you enjoy this. It has more...depth, now doesn't it? :P I'm working on a chap for Dearly next, so don't worry.

**Cynthia:** My astute reader. XD Your questions are answered, I hope. (grins madly) More precisely to answer who Van Fanel is—he's the kind of husband NO romantic female would mind having. XDDD

**Chisakami Saiyuki:** Here's the continuation...and does Van want to keep Hitomi? You tell me. XD

**Avelyn Lauren:** Haha, how's this, then? Heh, not everything is straightened with my mom but she's willing to work a lot more with me. I think a lot of my sanity is buried in my writing and the only way to retrieve those threads is...you guessed it...by writing. Dearly will be updated next, btw. :D

**Kya77:** Yeah, it was initially gonna be a comedy, but the story took a life of its own and it has a much darker mood than Dearly. Hope you still like it.

**Esca-lover:** I had to look twice to see that it was, well, YOU! :D Anyway, yes, it's modern time period XD and is taken place in Manhattan...love that city. :P Thanks for reading. What do you think now?

**Annie:** (blushes) Thanks, how do you like this update?

**Athar-Luna: **XD Glad it engrosses you...the whole point to why I write...I want to escape and get engrossed in another world. Thanks, I do think Mamoru deserved an older version...and I know I kinda replaced Folken with young Madison...hope you don't mind that.

**Dahee Fanel:** XD Squealy? Very funny, haha, actually, I see that as a good sign. I get squeally when a piece is particularly good. (falls off chair laughing) Shagging scene??!?! Girl, the ONLY reason I wrote a SUCH an extremely long kissing scene was to uuh _sate_ your lust. Control, control, 1, 2, 3. XD Anyway, it was nice talking to you the other night. Hope I didn't scare you away. :P

**Wh00t:** Thanks. :P

**Pompom:** Thanks, whaddaya think now?

**Angel of The Fallen Stars:** Hehehe, fulfilled your curiosity? I tried updating ASAP. What do you think of this?

**Kmmgirly:** I know EXACTLY what you mean, thus the reason for my warning. (snort) Nothing even remotely as exciting has ever happened in my life or will. :P Actually, broods it might if I decide to run away...but it'll be exciting in a very negative way. (sighs) As in three over-grown brothers chasing after me in the dark, city streets...

**Amalthea727:** I love this story too much to not finish it. :P (cringes) It's a curse, being SO romantic. This world is too...err...down-to-earth for hopeless lasses like me. XDD How was the liplocking??? xDD I'm sorry, will try to read it soon, but meh, I am soooo busy it's rather ridiculous—so can't promise. Thanks for reading mine...what are you waiting for?? Review! :D

**Peach: **Yupp, don't worry girl, I'm gonna get to that in the next chap...why she trusted him. :wink wink: Glad you like the romance!! :D

**Snow blossoms:** Aaahh, my revered reviewer. :grins till her skull splits: I loved the way you pointed that out to me!! Thanks!!! Will fix that!!!! I just wished you'd finished the review. Dear dear, don't you ever dare to not review in fear of hurting my :rolls eyes: tender feelings. It's reviewers like you that make me strive to improve. :smiles sheepishly: But I hope, overall, you didn't hate this story.

**Author's Notes: **Thank you immensely for such a good response to the first chapter! Had me grinning! K, about future updates, oh God, I really don't know. I've sneaked so much time for this and spent 12 hours on this piece. As for what I'll update next either, that entirely depends on my Muse and even more on my time. I think I'm pulling away with all As...except not sure about the class that I should be most sure about—English. Heh, but I have to do better than barely scrape. No, no, scraping does not suit me. I took the PSATs recently and hope to acquire the National Merits or so...thus, whisper a prayer for me and/or wish me luck. If I do get an extremely high score, I think I will please my parents beyond Eden and they'll...uhh...overlook my crazy tendencies to write and be more willing to install a computer in my room (Oh dear God, please, yes!). XD I tell them it helps with my verbal skills! :wink wink:

Anyway, onto the chapter. Hope you're not disappointed by anything... Thankfully, I've planned out the major scenes for the next chapter and the image grows in my mind, more detailed by the day. :sighs dreamily: How they meet again...well, it'll be unique! :wink, wink: And romantic. Very much so. So, this is rather a cliffie... Where has Hitomi gone? Heh, she's gonna haveta face the storm of her father alone. This story will take a more realistic reflection towards the end, coz the closure to this whimsical piece has to have some truth, but I hope so that it'll be a beautiful and you'll learn a thing or two as I did when I made the connection.

Oh yes, a loud holla to my lovely teddies—Aina-lass and Franzi girl!! :hugs both bearishly: You know, both of ye inspire me sooo much! Aina, yer the most patient person—xD, no surprise a certain person thought ye a saint! MWAHAHA!! :hugs rainbowishly: Yer patient for being able to deal with my growing insanity. Me convinced that I'll get gray hairs before thirty—and me mum didna even get it until she hit fifty...and they're only like four or five hairs in her headful o' black hair! An' Franzi!!!!!! Missed ye soooooo bloody much, girl!!!!!!!!!! This was a sort of welcome back present. :wink wink: Love you both bearishly much.

So, thus, dear reader, I end this entry. Now, what are you waiting for?? REVIEW!!!!!!!!!


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